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It was 4 a.m., and he was wide-awake. Tony Gwynn, the guy with more hits than Motown, was unsure of his place in baseball lore.

He decided not to fight it. There was no way he was falling back asleep because his mind was racing, thinking about his 20 years in the majors and whether people would still remember them five years after he retired. After six painstakingly long hours spent pacing, Gwynn’s phone rang. New York City’s 212 area code flashed across the face of his cell phone – this was it.

“It was 10:05 in the morning and the phone rang and he said, ‘Tony, this is Jack O’Connell with the National Baseball Writers Association, congratulations,’ and I just lost it,” Gwynn said. “I was so happy I couldn’t talk. I thought I was going to be fine and ended up breaking down.”

It seems ridiculous after the fact that Gywnn doubted his election. On Jan. 9, The Baseball Writers Association of America penciled Gwynn’s name in on 97.6 percent of ballots, the seventh highest percentage ever. Mays, Mantle, DiMaggio and even Ted Williams didn’t receive the same level of recognition as Gwynn for baseball’s highest honor.

Now, the stressful part is over. Gwynn can spend the upcoming months before the July 29 induction date in Cooperstown, N.Y., racking his brain, trying to remember all the people who impacted his career.

“There are so many people to thank and share with because I played here my whole career,” Gwynn said. “I want it to be fun. Everyone says enjoy it because I want to have a good time, but I was never one to toot my own horn.”

Although Gwynn was speechless when he heard the news, his dad wouldn’t have been.

“My parents were very encouraging when I was growing up, and my success is a direct reflection upon them,” Gwynn said. “The fact that my dad isn’t here anymore, I know I’m going to get emotional because he would have loved this. He was proudest of his three boys, and he would have had his chest stuck out right now.”

Charles and Vendella Gwynn had three sons: Charles, a teacher who played college baseball at California State University, Los Angeles, and Tony and Chris, major leaguers. The three sons were crafted in their parents’ image. Charles, who worked for the state, and Vendella, a night-shift worker for the post office, taught their sons to be hardworking and modest, but also confident in their abilities.

“He was very supportive in the sense that he would go to all my games, but for him to say, ‘I’m proud,’ that would have been the ultimate,” Gwynn said of his father.

For that reason, Gwynn never told people how good he was. It was obvious if you watched one at-bat. Or you could have just listened to his dad.

“My father liked to brag about his kids,” Gwynn said. “He saw success for me that I didn’t see.”

Following Gwynn’s debut against Philadelphia in 1982, Charles, who gave out compliments about as often as Tony gave away an easy out to a pitcher, told his son that he believed in him.

“My first game, he said, ‘You’re going to be really good at this,'” Gwynn said. “I’m trying to establish myself, telling him, ‘I don’t know, Dad, this is going to be hard; it’s not that easy to do.’ But he saw it. He thought I could do it.”

Before Charles died in 1993, he had been telling Gwynn for years that he would be the first player since Williams to hit .400. The next year, Tony hit .394 in 110 games, his run at .400 stopped by the greed of the MLB Players Association when the strike shortened the season. Maybe it was a good thing his father wasn’t around then because the Players Association never would have heard the end of it.

The year 1994 will be on the mind of everyone in attendance at Cooperstown come late July. That day, Gwynn will be introduced as a member of baseball’s greatest fraternity. How he’ll sleep the night before is anyone’s guest. He might sleep like a baby, knowing that the hardest part – getting voted in – is over. Or he might spend the night pacing around his Cooperstown hotel room, worrying that he left someone important out of his induction speech. If Charles Gwynn could be there, he’d probably tell his middle son, the hall of Famer, to rest easy. Dad is proud of you.

-Joe Giovannetti is a journalism

senior.

-This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.